


Reeling

by Glowbug



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: (just at the beginning), Awkward Conversations, Background Relationships, Coping, Fishing, Gen, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loneliness, Loss, Male-Female Friendship, Partner Betrayal, Post-antarctica, Underage Drinking, bad at relationships, calling each other's crap, moral support, post-Dark Phoenix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowbug/pseuds/Glowbug
Summary: Rogue and Cyclops go fishing together, because neither of them is that good at making a catch. (Or: a friendship forms between two people who sometimes really suck at relationships.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Heard tell I could find ya out here.”

Scott Summers bolted upright, grabbing at his slightly-askew glasses. Still over his eyes, thank goodness. He must’ve dozed off in the grass.

The new girl— _Rogue,_ he remembered, _ex-Brotherhood, steals powers with skin contact, reliability promising but still undetermined—_ stood over him in a flannel shirt and worn jeans he’d bet money were cast-offs of Logan’s. She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m goin’ fishin’. Ya wanna come?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Ah don’t like ta intrude on yer grief.” Rogue indicated the tombstone behind him with a jerk of her chin. “But ah reckon there comes a point where it ain’t so much mournin’ as drownin’.”

“I’m _paying my respects,”_ Scott snapped. Never mind that after almost a year he still saw Jean around every corner...

Rogue met his glare without flinching, but her voice was gentle. “She ain’t goin’ anywhere, sugah. Come fishin’ with me for a little.”

She didn’t offer him a hand up. Didn’t walk away, either.

He settled his glasses more firmly on his nose before he got to his feet.

* * *

She led him through the woods, to a bend in the little river that fed the lake. A battered cooler and pair of fishing rods sat on the bank. “Bait’s there,” Rogue said—“there” being a soup can half-buried in silt. “Grab a pole.”

He did. She took the other.

“Now, fish an’ grubs don’ mind, but _you_ keep your hands off!” With that, Rogue peeled off a glove—her left hand, Scott noted, the one farther away from him. That hand had to cross her body to pluck a grub out of the can, but she had it on the fishing hook almost faster than he could follow. Almost. Good thing he was used to breaking down motion in a hurry. Rogue drew her arm back and flicked the pole. The baited line flew out over the river. _Splash!_

Now it was his turn. Not hard. After fighting the Shi’ar Imperial Guard (almost winning. Damn it, _almost winning!)_ , worms were nothing, right? _Ugh._ He winced at the way the grub felt in his fingers. _Easy. Get the hook with your other hand, put it through. It’s just a worm. Just a—_

“Yow!” He dropped worm and hook both. A drop of blood beaded up where he’d jabbed his hand.

“You okay?”

“Uh.” He looked. The cut was already scabbing over. “Yeah. Fine.”

To his surprise, Rogue chuckled. “I shoulda thought. You’ve never been fishin’ before, have you?”

He hadn’t. “I...”

“No shame in it, city boy. Here.” She caught the swinging hook in her gloved hand. “I’ve got it steady for ya. Try it again.”

“I don’t really understand why you invited me.” He reached for another worm.

Rogue shrugged. “Makes two of us, sugah. I keep myself t’ myself.”

He’d noticed. “And why’s that?”

“Y’think I’m a fool? I hear how the room goes silent when I walk in.”

The hook was baited. Rogue scooted away.

Cyclops scowled, concentrating, and whipped his line out into the river. _Splash._ In the corner of his eye, Rogue nodded slightly. He smiled.

“Now what?”

She reached for the cooler. “Now it’s just watchin’ an’ waitin.”

The can of beer she handed him looked suspiciously like something from Logan’s personal stash. “Are you even old enough to drink this stuff?”

“Ah take my joys where ah can get ’em, city boy.” _Snap-fzzzt._ She took a swig. “And _yo’_ mama shoulda taught you how rude it is to ask a lady her age.”

She was teasing him, he _knew_ that, but he still said, “I grew up in an orphanage, Rogue.”

Silence. Then her hand, the gloved one, slipped into his and squeezed tight. “Ah’m sorry.” The hand withdrew.

_What the hell am I supposed to say to her now?_

_Jean would’ve known._

Scott cracked open his beer.

* * *

Toward the bottom of the can, it dawned on him that the silence wasn’t awkward. Rogue sprawled on her belly beside him, swirling her uncovered hand in the water and humming to herself. The sun dappled through the trees. The river burbled. It was... soothing. His fishing rod hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, but sitting and doing nothing here was somehow better than sitting and doing nothing alone with his grief.

The beer was empty. “Have any more of these?” he found himself asking.

“Cooler,” she replied without moving. “Get it yerself.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

There was indeed more beer, as well as soda pop and a couple of apples. “I hope I don’t have to stop Logan from tearing you apart later.”

“I’d like to see ’im try!” Rogue snorted. “Nah, Wolverine’s all right. Ever since Japan ’e treats me like a kid sister or somethin’.”

“And he lets you raid his beer stash?”

A pause a tad too long. “I’ll make it up to ’im.”

He thought better of being tipsy when he got back to the mansion and took a Coke. “Nothing seems to be biting.”

“Gotta have patience, city boy.” Rogue tugged off her other glove to dip both hands in the water. “What d’you do with your lazy summer afternoons, anyhow?”

“Danger Room training,” he said.

She made a sound like a gasp caught halfway. Their eyes met, and she buried her face in wet hands and _guffawed_.

“What? What’s so funny?”

Rogue shook her head, hooting with laughter. _“Trainin’,”_ she wheezed, “is what ya do fer _fun?_ Mah God, city boy, you gotta get out more!”

He stared at her, with her fishing rod and dubiously legal beer. A slow smile spread over his face.

“That’s… that’s what Jean always told me, too. You have no idea how many times she dragged me out of the DR ’for my own good.’”

“Good on her. Y’ got a bite.”

“Huh?” His fishing rod strained toward the river. “Geez!” He grabbed at it, cranking the reel. The line seemed to have taken on a mind of its own—a piscine one, no doubt. It mightily resisted his efforts to pull it back in. Until it didn’t. The tension vanished. He reeled in an empty hook. “So close...” he muttered.

“Don’ worry, there’ll be others.”

_But not that one._ A familiar wave of loss swept over him. So much effort expended to hold on, and yet. “I miss her, Rogue. I miss her so much I don’t know what to do with it.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye. “You musta loved her a whole lot.”

He nodded. There was a long silence. He shut his eyes long enough to lift his glasses, wipe away the moisture that had collected.

“We got more bait,” Rogue said softly. “An’ I got all afternoon.”

“Okay,” he said, and it was, sort of. “I guess I’ll try again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rogue absolutely does not, no how, no way, get to feel sorry for herself.

A sharp rap sounded on the door. Rogue pulled a blanket over her head.

“It’s me,” Cyclops’ voice said.

“Go ’way.”

“This isn’t a social call, Rogue.”

She didn’t _feel_ sociable.

“If you won’t let me in, I’ll tell you from here. You’re on probation.”

Her body went rigid. “What?!”

“For _abandoning a teammate in the Antarctic,”_ he said firmly. “You’re a seasoned X-Man, Rogue. I expect better from you.”

Her feet found the floor.

“Do you want to explain what the hell you were thinking?” asked Cyclops.

What _she_ was thinking? Or what _Gambit_ was? His echoes were still in her brain. _(Damn fool, t’inkin’ to make a home wit’ de X-Men. T’inkin’ I could make dis right. Oughta die. Oughta run an keep runnin’ till dere ain’t no more ground...)_ She’d been pushing him down and down into the slums of her mind for days—but for once, thinking her own thoughts was worse.

She opened the door. “Well?” Scott said.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “Ah _trusted_ him, Scotty.”

Scott’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Now I’m _really_ confused.”

Rogue stared at her bare feet. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

He broke the silence. “Listen… do you still have those fishing poles?”

* * *

Their spot by the river was suspiciously dry and clear of snow.

“I found some leftover hamburger. Think that would do for—” Scott grunted in pain as he sat down. “For bait?”

“…You’re hurt.” Rogue stuck her fishing pole in the ground. “Ah clean forgot.”

“It’s on the mend.”

“But ya oughta be in bed, not sittin’ out here with…” Why had he invited her fishing thirty seconds after putting her on probation?

Why the hell had she accepted?

Scott held out the tupperware of cooked hamburger meat. She didn’t take it. “You’re the third person today to point out what a terrible patient I am,” he said.

On a normal day, she’d have laughed. “Cecilia and Jean?”

“Yep. At least this way I can tell them I’m taking it easy.”

She rolled onto her stomach. “Y’know, we don’t go ta pieces every time you ain’t around.”

“Maybe not. But the mansion’s been ransacked, Marrow won’t move out of the Danger Room, Bishop’s missing in space somewhere…” He sighed. “And I asked Storm to go on a… a recon mission. An important one. So it’s back down to me for a couple days.” There was a splash, then another, as he cast their lines. The river wasn’t yet frozen. “I made coffee,” he offered. “It’s not as good as Jean’s, but if you’re cold.”

“’m fine,” she muttered.

“All right.” He unscrewed the top of a thermos and poured for himself. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Rogue shut her eyes, listening to the burble of the river.

* * *

Four days of unshed tears caught up to her around the time Scott poured a second cup of coffee. She buried her face in her arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t cried out loud since she was thirteen and wasn’t about to start now.

“Hey, you’ve got something.”

She didn’t move.

“Rogue?” He touched her shoulder. Reflexively, she tensed. “I think there’s something on your line.”

“Don’ wan’ it,” she croaked. “Cut i’ loose.”

“It looks pretty big...”

She seized the line in her hands without looking, snapping it in two. Immediately, the hook end slithered away.

“So much for fishing,” Scott said.

“Shuddup.” Rogue buried her face in her arms again, shaking with every smothered sob. The ground leached most of her body heat, but she didn’t care.

His hand came to rest, hesitantly, between her shoulder blades. “I’m not—good at this stuff,” he said. “But if something happened, if you need to talk about—I mean, with you and Gambit, if—I mean—uh—I can try. I guess.”

“Talking about it” was mostly what they _didn’t_ do on fishing days. And about this…?

“Ah dunno,” she choked out.

Scott rubbed her back lightly. “Okay.”

Rogue cried even harder. He didn’t ask any questions. They were silent for a long time.

“Y’know how widow spiders kill their mates?” she said at last. “Ah mean… after?”

“I think that’s a myth.”

“That ain’t the point.”

“…Sorry.”

“Ah’m the spider, Scotty.” Rogue sniffled, then sneezed, feeling colder than ever. “Got poison an’ everythin’…”

“For the love of God, Rogue.”

Startled, she lifted her head.

Cyclops reached for his pole, reeling in the neglected bait. “You’re a _person._ You have _choices._ You think spiders make choices?”

“Uh…”

“Listen. The day I found out Jean was alive, I walked out on my wife.”

Rogue blinked, and sat up. “You never.”

“I did. Maddy was furious, of course. She told me not to bother coming back, and I didn’t. By the time I got my head screwed on straight again, it was too late.”

“Why ya tellin’ me this?”

“Because I _still_ don’t know what possessed me to walk out the door, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” He yanked her pole from the bank, winding up the broken line. “I didn’t even try to do right by her. It cost me Maddy. It cost me my _son.”_

Well, what was she supposed to say to _that?_

“We should head back.” Scott gathered up the fishing gear. “Whatever Storm did out here, I think it’s wearing off.”

“Yer _terrible_ at sympathy, Mr. Summers.”

“Hey, I warned you.”

A faint smile formed on her lips. “That ya did.”

He offered her a hand up, and she took it. They started toward the house.

Rogue wiped her eyes. “Storm’s goin’ t’ look for ’im, isn’t she?”

Scott glanced sideways at her.

“That’s where you sent her,” she pressed.

“They’re old friends.” He shrugged. “And no one else would go.”

“Y’ think she’ll find ’im?”

Scott’s head and shoulders hunched into a passing imitation of a turtle.

_No. ’Course not. Storm ain’t a miracle worker._

_Remy might be dead. That’s on_ you, _Anna Marie. Ain’t nobody gonna fix it for ya._

_What’re you gonna do now?_

“Ya reckon ah could take some personal time, Scotty?” Heat prickled her face. “Means nothin’ now, prolly. An’ I don’t like to leave ya shorthanded. But I reckon I… I gotta try an’ do better than some tale ’bout a spider.”

“On one condition.”

She waited.

“I don’t want to lose any more X-Men, Rogue. So be careful out there. That’s an order.”

“Do m’ best,” she promised.

“Then take all the time you need.”


End file.
